


He Calls It Raising Money "For Charity"

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert (TV)
Genre: M/M, Wifeless AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-18 08:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9377642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: "You spend thirteen months on CBS and now… Let me see, Mirren, Fields, Bridges, Janney, Kroll…” He counts the surnames out on his fingers. “God, it’s like you’re raising money for charity.”“Only twenty-five cents to kiss the host, Jon,” Stephen rubs in.Jon strokes his beard thoughtfully, hand on his hip. “I dunno, as much as I’d love to, I think I left my wallet backstage…”“I’m sure I'll be able to make an exception.”“Will I have to pay you back?” Jon questions.“We can talk about that later.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Colbore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colbore/gifts).



> stephencolbore: “If you touch me, I get very quiet.” - can I get a stewbert fic based on this quote?
> 
> Most of the fic takes place Jan 10, 2017 (The one where Andrew Garfield was a guest, yeah, now you know what I'm talking about.)

At 3:03 a.m., a light tap on the side of his back snaps Jon out of a daydream. He resists the urge to scream as he stretches himself out on his side of the bed.

"Hey," Stephen greets. _He's way too cheery for the hour_ , Jon thinks. "Still awake?"

"Yeah," he groans.

"Thinking?"

"Mhm."

"About what?"

"You," Jon lies. It's his default answer, has been for a while now. Stephen stopped laughing at it a long time ago, but it still manages to earn a pity smile.

"I was thinking too," Stephen says.

"Pray tell."

“You should come back to T.V,” Stephen whispers into the dark.

Jon laughs a little, throat rough. “Is that really what you were thinking about?”

“What else would I be thinking about?” Stephen says after a period of silence. Jon can't tell if he's joking or not.

“Anything else. It's just not- It isn't important,” Jon says. "I still have that HBO thing on the table, if you're so worried." He shifts around, places a warm hand on the side of Stephen's face and uses his thumb to stroke the skin in front of his hearing ear. 

More silence. Somewhere, twenty stories below, the frustration of late night traffic ring through the air like early-morning birds.

“Stephen?”

Stephen shivers, and all of a sudden there’s his hand- wrapped loosely around Jon’s wrist. To make sure it stays there, Jon realizes, not to urge him away. He shakes his head a little. “Sorry," Stephen breathes, smiles. "I didn't see- if you touch me, I get very quiet. It's a... thing," he says, embarrassed.

“Noted,” Jon smirks. He runs a thumb along Stephen's jawline like he's rubbing out tension, dull scratch of stubble pricking his finger. “Maybe I will,” he murmurs.

Five beats pass before Stephen remembers to respond. “Maybe I will what?”

“Return. To T.V. Within the month, I mean.”

“We’ll always be glad to accommodate,” Stephen says, voice soft. “You know that.” He shifts around until their foreheads are nearly touching and their legs are entangled in sheets. Jon’s still got his palm on his cheek, but Stephen's hand is gone now, relaxed.

“Next week?” Jon whispers before closing in to kiss the side of his mouth. He can’t help it- Stephen’s right there- he might as well. 

“Sure,” he sighs as Jon pulls away. “I love you."

"I love you too," Jon whispers. "Now go back to sleep."

-

_It's 12:07 a.m. when Jon feels a tug on his wrist and he's being led blind into an unoccupied hallway. He manages to set his half-finished glass of champagne on an already overfilled coffee table before Stephen spins him around so his back is flat against the wall._

_"Hello to you, too," Jon mumbles._

_"You've been ignoring me, Jon." His voice is authoritative, dominant. Stephen smells like someone else's perfume. "I have to talk to you."_

_Jon tries his best to shift into a comfortable position but Stephen's got an arm pinned on either side of him. Somewhere downtown, fireworks are still being shot despite New Year's already passed. They echo and reverberate through the skyscrapers until they reach Stephen's high-rise in the form of a low rumble. "You were preoccupied whenever I thought to talk to you," Jon confesses._

_"You'll have to excuse me for that." Stephen's regarding him intently. Jon doesn't move. "I've, uh, already had quite a bit to drink."_

_"Pre-game for the world's supposed end?" Jon smirks._

_Stephen laughs, slow and light. "Didn't know you were a Y2K guy." Jon isn't, but he doesn't say anything._   _He forces himself to stay still as Stephen_ _leans in until their faces are only inches apart._

_"Having a good time?" Stephen smiles. "I put a lot of thought into this party, you know."_

_"Of course," Jon plays nice. "The girls here are-" he clicks his tongue,"-Class A." His gaze is drawn to a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto Stephen's forehead amid the celebrations and Jon has to fight the urge to brush it away _.__

_Stephen leans in a bit closer and, yeah, Jon could probably brush it aside if he wanted to. “Your eyes...” Stephen starts. There’s probably more to the sentence, but for some reason or another he cuts himself off at that._

_“I hear they’re blue,” Jon deadpans. His fingers twitch._

_“Yeah,” Stephen says. He moves in close until their lips are nearly touching._ It's persimmon _, Jon realizes. Stephen smells like persimmon. He parts his lips as if exhaling smoke. "Can I..."_

_“Sure,” Jon breathes. "Sure."_

_Stephen kisses him then, and it's probably wrong and Jon wants to panic but he can't and half a million thoughts run through his mind before he comes to his bearings and realizes he'd been kissing back._

-

_Jon means to talk about it when they return from break a week later, he really does, but the both of them are too busy to bring it up and Jon ends up convincing himself that it's better that way._

_Perhaps Stephen forgot. Jon plays with the idea during slow news days when there's nothing to make fun of but some guy who collects fingernails in Florida and he wonders if he's in love or just bored._

_-_

"Why do I get the feeling that you’re looking at me funny?" Stephen asks, eyes stuck to his computer screen. Jon's splayed out on Stephen's office couch- the same way Stephen would lie on Jon's when they both worked in the same building.

“Because I am." Jon sees no shame in admitting it. "I just noticed- you wear the new glasses only for the show?"

Stephen nods. "Lawyers said I looked too similar to the old guy." He doesn't seem too bothered by the statement.

"You don't really look like Letterman."

"Shut up."

"Make me- whatever. Who's on tonight?"

"Garfield and Andrews." 

Jon sits up. "Didn't Garfield and Reynolds-”

“I know," Stephen flashes him a devilish grin. "Tonight's gonna be fun." Jon's surprised he doesn't wink.

Jon shakes his head, tongue poking out the inside of his cheek. “You are  _so_ predictable. You do know there're other things you can do with guests that don't include, er, mouthing them off, right?"

 _Yeah, like playing beer pong,_ Stephen thinks. “What are you getting at here, Stewart? You're not _jealous_ , are you?” He swivels in his chair dispassionately, and Jon just laughs.

He crosses the room to lean his hip on the edge of the desk. "To think- all it'll take to steal you away from me is some smooth-talking British heartthrob."

"Yeah, because I totally have the hots for Ian McKellen," Stephen quips before Jon can think of a proper retort.

"Oh, no. Gross." He smiles even though he doesn't want to. Stephen has always been good at making him do that.

"Don't bring it up if you can't handle the truth," he chides.

"I guess I had it coming." Jon shakes his head. "You know, you look younger with the new glasses," he adds.

"Gee, thanks."

"No problem." Stephen blinks as Jon leans in to pull them off his face. "What're you-" 

"There's still an hour until taping, right?"

"I- yeah." Stephen sneaks a glance towards the door. Locked. "You're acting pretty risqué today, Stewart," he nods.

Jon rolls his eyes and brushes his fingers against the back of his neck. True to his word, Stephen shuts up immediately. He smirks. "C'mere."

-

_It takes four months for Jon to slip back into a regular sleeping schedule and it takes five more for him to actually look like he's not a host half-dead._

_Stephen teases him for it, and Jon just takes it because he likes getting attention from the only person in the building he can stand to bear._

_It takes eleven months for the show to start running the way it should- like a well-oiled machine- impactful, accurate, with strength hidden from public view. Like one of those new Nokia phones. Or maybe a lighter._

_Jon wants to work on their accuracy. Can we focus this point more, is there anything we can do to make this not seem like a parody of a parody, why the hell are all of you going to the roof in fifteen minute blocks._

_Their workload gets less strenuous as they reach the summer months. The end of the day gets pulled farther away from midnight, and Jon finds himself missing the late nights spent bullshitting work in the office._

_So they make excuses. They find the time. It's either another rewrite, or they're going out for drinks to celebrate some minute occasion, or maybe they just don't feel like going home._

_Jon's admiring the way_ _Stephen looks when he’s concentrating on a half-written script- brows slightly furrowed in concentration- bottom lip caught in his teeth._

Adorable, _Jon thinks, and he almost chastises himself for having grown soft._

_"What?" Stephen asks. He looks at him through his lashes and Jon realizes he'd been staring for a few moments longer than socially acceptable._

_"Nothing," Jon says, then makes a point to shift his attention to the script in front of him. It's drenched in red ink, and there's a ring of coffee stamped on the front cover. Sloppy. His heart sinks._

_"Nothing? I'm sure you didn't agree to stay up late writing for_ nothing _, Jon," Stephen taunts. He sets the pen between his teeth and leans over the table. "So. Tell me what you're thinking about."_

_Jon's leg begins to bounce under the desk, and he weighs the situation very, very carefully. He'd been thinking about telling Stephen for awhile now, but he'd always been good at convincing himself to not._

Doing so would be too unprofessional,  _Jon thinks._ Too needy, too pathetic. He'll never like you that way. You're crazy.

_But._

_He forces himself to look Stephen in the eye. "You," Jon says simply._

_Stephen's silent for a moment, and it's the longest stretch of nothing Jon's ever experienced in his life._

_"Uh." A smile tugs at his lips. "I- um."_

_"Sorry," Jon waves his hand passively. "That was a stupid thing to say. I'm just tired." He's only half-lying._

_"Wait-no-it's alright," Stephen decides._

_More silence._

__Stephen swallows._ "I'm-fuck-" He tilts his head a little and laughs nervously. "You don't happen to remember-"_

_"New Years?" Jon laughs._

_Stephen nods._

_"Of course I do."_

_Stephen turns red. "I thought you-"_

_"Forgot?" Jon fills. "You_ were _pretty drunk."_

_Stephen gives him an embarrassed look._

_"I just- I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to bring it up, you know? It's not exactly something I'd pitch during a writer's meeting," Jon bemuses. He begins to doodle out something on the script between them as he talks._

_Stephen watches in silence as hair gets scribbled onto an ill-proportioned head._ _"Let's get out of here," he proposes._

_"It's almost one in the morning."_

_"I have a bottle of sauvignon blanc in one of my drawers," Stephen insists._

_"Are you trying to get me into a_ mood _, Colbert?" Jon teases._

_Stephen smiles at him from across the desk and crosses an X over his heart. "I have sworn all ulterior motives to secrecy." He closes his script and stands to make his way for the door. "I'll be right back."_

 -

“Heard you were, uh, talkin’ about the Golden Globes earlier,” Jon says. He tries to ignore the staring audience, judging, waiting. Four-hundred people. He wonders what the hell he was thinking when they'd written his lines. 

“I was, yeah, I was," Stephen says in faux confusion. "Why?"

“You’re getting predictable, Colbert,” Jon says, echoing their previous conversation. The prompter's still running, but he doesn't really need it.

He leans on his heels, back and forth and back, forces himself to look Stephen in the eye without cracking.

“Yeah?” Stephen cocks a brow and Jon loves the fact that there's a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Even after all these years, he still loves making him laugh. “I’ll let you know I've made a New Year's resolution to become more spontaneous, Jon.”

"Did you?" It comes out as a statement.

Stephen looks at him like he’d just been dared. "I can prove it. Let's see... Did you see Ryan Reynolds at the show on Sunday?," he asks, hand in his pocket.

 _Just get to the setup already,_ Jon thinks.

It's like Stephen can read his mind. He licks his lips and continues the thought. "I’d say I'm pretty comfortable with kissing guys. Not everybody is,” he gives Jon a knowing look. “But I’m totally comfortable with it.”

“I’m sure you are,” Jon fakes a sigh. “You spend thirteen months on CBS and now… Let me see, Mirren, Fields, Bridges, Janney, Kroll…” He counts the surnames out on his fingers. “God, it’s like you’re raising money for charity.”

“Only twenty-five cents to kiss the host, Jon,” Stephen rubs in.

Jon strokes his beard thoughtfully, hand on his hip. “I dunno, as much as I’d love to, I think I left my wallet backstage…”

“I’m sure I'll be able to make an exception.”

“Will I have to pay you back?” Jon questions.

“We can talk about that later,” Stephen replies coyly, then takes a step towards him so they’re only inches instead of feet apart. “So, glasses on or off?”

"Are you sure we should do this?" Jon strays from the script. He's biting back nervous laughter.

"The people miss you, Jon. This would be-" He leans in closer. "-quite the comeback." The audience roars in response.

It takes him a few seconds to collect himself. _Don't laugh, you fuck. Don't you dare laugh._  A nod. "You said spontaneous, yes?" He asks slowly.

"I believe so."

"Well-" Fuck it. For lack of better words, it's now or never.

They had decided on a show kiss for this part of the monologue, one that would last, two, three seconds at most, but Jon is a man of his word. 

-

_"Am I ever going to get to kiss you properly?" Stephen asks._

_Jon's head snaps up from a copy of the NYT. "Excuse me?"_

_"We were drunk last time. It didn't count." Stephen states. He's so nonchalant- they might as well be discussing the weather._

_"I suppose you're right," Jon sighs wearily. "Would you like to plan it out? Give me a place and time, I'm sure I can clear out my schedule," he mutters, tone dry._

_"That would be counterproductive," Stephen frowns. "I like spontaneity. I think."_

_"I'll take a raincheck, then," Jon says as he taps a pen against his cheek. "What's a seven-letter-word for gridlock?"_

-

They've kissed a million times before, but, fuck, with four hundred people waiting, watching-  _This is crazy,_  Jon thinks.  _This is ridiculous. Sixteen years and you're finally, you're finally-_

 _(People are going to know now, and that's the part he dreads the most. Before they were scared they wouldn't have control of the press, that Fox/CNN/MSNBC would twist their relationship into a scandal and burn them to the ground. But this- to reveal it now after all these years- this is their choice, mutually made. And the two of them know that there will be interviews, tons, all systematically identical that Jon won't be able to discern one from the other. Articles will be written. Speculations about how Stephen got the Report will be made._ _People will say it's a publicity stunt, that they're faking, Stewart-Colbert, last names chasing each other since the beginning of the millennia and this is where they'd wound up-_ )

-

_"Happy birthday," a voice calls out from behind him, and Jon's surprised the phrase "old man" doesn't follow in jest. "What is it this year?" Stephen asks as he takes the seat across from him. "Forty-one? Forty-two?"_

_"Thirty-nine." Jon puts his face in his hands._

_"I knew that."_

_"Sure."_

_"It's the graying hair," Stephen says. "Makes you seem more... authoritative than you really are."_

_"Thanks," Jon says, then looks up at him. "Where are the others?"_

_Stephen's fiddling with his watch. "Beth told them not to come," he scowls._

_"Why?"_

_"You know why."_

_Jon doesn't, but he nods anyway._

_Stephen smiles. "I was told that if we start making out during a taping Steve owes her fifty bucks."_

_Jon laughs. "I was unaware we were the subject of an under-the-table betting scheme."_

_"Well, we are, evidently," Stephen smirks, and Jon wonders if there's more to this than he's letting on._

_He shakes his head instead. "So. You think Beth deserves a fifty?"_

_Stephen shrugs. "I had an idea about doing this bit- well, look, now I can't tell you." He grins, excited, and leans in on his elbows. "Have you ever heard of a guy named David Eliot?"_

_-_

Chants of Stephen's name swell and crash over them like waves and Jon tries his best to not drown.

-

"Move in with me?" Stephen asks. They're sitting on the couch in front of the T.V. and someone, perhaps Anderson or O'Reilley or Blitzer, is going on about the nearing inauguration. They muted it hours ago.

"Shit," Jon jokes. "Did I forget to do that?"

"Evidently your mind skipped straight to thinking we got married," he quips.

Jon freezes. 

"Something wrong?"

"Sorry," Jon says. "You've never- It's just- we should."

"Should what?"

"You know." He twists an imaginary ring on his fourth finger.

"Ah," Stephen beams. "Buy me dinner first," he laughs.

"I've been buying you dinner for the past sixteen years," Jon replies.

"Yeah, well. Just- when you do propose- make sure you catch me off guard, okay?" Stephen asks. The request is so genuine. Jon honestly can't tell if he's joking or not.

He lets himself smile. "Don't worry," he assures. "Someone already told me you like spontaneity."

"Mm. They must know me well," Stephen grins.

"God, I hope they do," Jon says as he bites his bottom lip. "Come over here, I'm gonna do that thing to your ear again."

"I stopped freezing up a long time ago," Stephen insists. 

"It's endearing," Jon says. "It's like you're a puppy or something."

"Fine," Stephen huffs. "As long as you like it."

Jon blows a raspberry. "I do like it, I guess. It's amusing at most." He smiles as Stephen moves in so he can drape an arm over his shoulders. 

"I think Holt's talking about us," Stephen gestures to the television. Sure enough, there are there two headshots on the screen, side by side, a breaking news-esque graphic placed below it. 

Jon sighs. "We asked for this."

"It was worth it, I think," Stephen says.

Jon nods. They watch the muted head talk for a bit longer, then Jon leans in to press a kiss into Stephen's hair. "Yeah, I think it was."

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